


Unexpected Attack

by tashaxxxxxx



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis Whump, Hurt Aramis | René d'Herblay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 11:30:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21015050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tashaxxxxxx/pseuds/tashaxxxxxx
Summary: Someone from Aramis’ past wants him dead.  What happens when he appears at the garrison





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anything in italics is Spanish.

The day had started out like any other. Porthos and Aramis were sat watching as Athos put D’Artagnan through his paces. Athos had to admit that given a bit more time even his skills would be hard pressed to beat their newest musketeer brother. Though he would never admit that, especially to D’Artagnan.

Deciding to show his younger brother just how much he still had left to earn, Athos side stepped D’artagnan’s oncoming attack and shoved his foot out. D’Artagnan tripped over it and landed face first in the dirt. An underhanded trick but nevertheless effective.

Porthos let out a bellow of laughter as their youngest brother was sent sprawling to ground, Athos stood over him with his sword point resting on D’artagnan’s chest. “That was cheating.” Athos snorted, offering D’Artagnan a hand as the younger got to his feet.

“A good musketeer must always be prepared for even the dirtiest tricks.” Aramis added from his seat next to Porthos.

“I thought when the D’Artagnan apprentice musketeer point was done.” He grumbled, gaining a snort of laughter from Porthos.

“Not quite yet pup.’ Aramis announced, grinning as he stepped away from the pillar.

The sun was high in the sky and Porthos laughed as Athos took a seat next to Porthos. “Old bones getting tired Athos?” Aramis grinned, sending the older musketeer a grin over his shoulder.

Athos just rolled his eyes but found himself smiling all the same. Aramis had been off ever since the Queen had announced she was pregnant and it was good to see Aramis acting a bit more like himself. 

“No, but you look like you need the practice.” Athos retorted.

“You wound me my friend.” Aramis replied, even as he took out his rapier out and stood to face D’Artagnan. The younger just shrugged, taking his place opposite Aramis.

“Not dirty tricks.” D’Artagnan started to say just as a shot rang out across the garrison.

White hot pain blossomed at the side of Aramis’s head where the bullet had skimmed past his ear. Sluggishly, Aramis lifted a hand to feel the blood pouring freezing from the large gash on his face. He didn’t hear the second shot but felt the impact as the bullet shot through his abdomen and Aramis presumed straight through his back. After all what else would explain the searing pain from both areas.

“Aramis!” Porthos shouted. Or at least Aramis thought it was Porthos. Honestly, he couldn’t even be sure someone had shouted to begin with the pain was unbearable and their was a ringing in his ears. 

Black dots swum in his vision and when Aramis looked up he saw his friends above him. Though when he had hit the ground was another mystery. D’Artagnan was saying something. His lips where moving but the sound didn’t reach Aramis. Everything was turning a hazy grey as Aramis fought against unconsciousness.

“Aramis, stay with us.” Aramis thought he heard someone that sounded vaguely like Athos shout at him. But that wouldn’t be Athos. Athos was never that panicked. He wanted to say he was trying. He wanted to reassure his friends that he was fine but when Aramis opened his mouth to say something all that came up was a pained groan.

“Aramis...”. Porthos this time, the bigger man’s hand clenched down on the wound on Aramis’ stomach trying to stem the bleeding. A distant part of Aramis thought that should hurt more than it should but all he could feel was the thrumming on his head. Aramis closed his eyes from the bright sun overhead. It helped a little.

“Aramis, damn you stay awake.” Athos yelled but Aramis never heard him. The thrumming was disappearing as he fell into the calming embrace of blackness.

..........

Porthos could only watch in horrified disbelief as the bullet grazed past Aramis’ right ear. His brother’s head snapped backwards and he staggered sideways as blood started to coat his face.

D’Artagnan watched as Aramis lifted his hand to to the bloodied side of his face, frowning in dazed fascination at the blood coating his fingers. The younger moved to rest a steadying hand on Aramis’ shoulder as his friend staggered. It was act D’Artagnan would come to regret in the coming days.

The second shot brought Athos out of his stupor but there wasn’t enough time to stop the bullet that planted itself firmly in Aramis’ stomach. Blood erupted from his friends back as the bullet exited and joined it’s partner in the stable wall behind Aramis.

Aramis stumbled backwards. The usual graceful marskman making no effort to cushion the fall as his body seemed to just crumple in on itself.

“Aramis!” Porthos yelled, kneeling in front of his brother. Pressing his hands on the open wound in Aramis’ chest the bigger musketeer tried not to gag as felt the blood pumping out in a steady stream.

Aramis’ brown orbs looking at Porthos were full of pain, agony and disbelief. “Aramis, damn you stay awake.” Athos shouted but Aramis didn’t even look at him. His eyes danced past his friends, obviously not seeing anything before dropping in unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

Porthos laid Aramis still body onto the bed as carefully as he could. Athos was hovering near the door an air of unrepresentative worry covering his face. That alone put Porthos on edge. Athos didn’t worry. Athos didn’t let anyone see his emotions. For him to show he was his worry so clearly meant that Athos didn’t think Aramis would live. And Porthos wouldn’t believe that.

D’Artagnan had run for the garrison physician the second Aramis dropped into unconsciousness. Granted that was because Treville had shouted for someone to do it but still, the lad had been the first one to pull himself out of the disbelieving stupor the rest of the garrison had been in.

Treville had shouted for the rest of the men to fan out, to find whoever had attacked Aramis but Porthos knew he would be gone by now. The two shots had meant to kill. Not wound. Kill.

“Porthos...”. Athos started placing a hand on Porthos’ shoulder but he couldn’t seem to continue. Instead the older musketeer grabbed an old blanket and started to try and stem the bleeding at Aramis’ head.

That left Porthos with the task of the stomach wound which was still sluggishly bleeding out. “Porthos, we have to stop the bleeding.” Athos murmured, taking Porthos’ hand and putting it on the cloth Athos had placed on Aramis’ head. Porthos said nothing as he put pressure on the injury, trying not to look at the too pale face of his brother.

Athos said nothing as he gently rolled Aramis on his side, gently removing first his friends jacket then lifting his shirt up so he could take a better look at the wounds. Athos hissed through his teeth as he saw the damage of the exit wound. All their attention had been on the bullet holt directly above Aramis’ hip, they had failed to look at the messy exit the bullet had made of Aramis’ back. The skins looked torn and was bright red, blood leaking steadily out of it. 

Quickly, Athos grabbed the wine that was kept on the side and washed the injury clean, hoping against all hope that Aramis would make some sort of noise to show he was still alive. But their friends remained unnaturally quiet as he cleaned the wounds on his body.

A knock on the door dragged Porthos and Athos from their actions as D’Artagnan appeared at the doorway with Henry, the Garrison’s ageing physician. The old man gently pushed Athos and Porthos out of the room closing it softly behind him and leaving Porthos, Athos and D’Artagnan standing out on the balcony.

“What just happened?” Porthos whispered, hands shaking as he looked at the blood coating his hands. Aramis’. The same blood that was pooled on the garrison floor in a horrific puddle. Porthos closed his eyes, tears stinging at his eyes.

“I don’t know but we’ll find who did this, Porthos. I swear to you.” Athos put a hand on Porthos’ shoulder, well aware that he was completely out of his element here. He wasn’t one for comfort, he couldn’t say the right words to make someone believe everything was going to be ok. He wasn’t Aramis.

“How is he?” Treville asked, face grave as he looked the 3 remaining inseparables up and down.

“We don’t know.” Athos started.

“It’s Aramis.” Porthos interrupted, glaring at Athos as if daring the older man to disagree. “He’ll be fine.”

Treville didn’t reply, he only wished this was the truth. “Was anyone else injured? Athos asked, glancing down at the garrison, resolutely not looking at the drying pool of blood where Aramis had fallen.

“No. We couldn’t find the attacker either, disappeared before we even knew he was there.” Treville responded gravely.

“Coward.” D’Artagnan muttered, fingers clenching around the rapier at his waist. 

“We found this though.” Treville replied, ignoring D’artagnan’s comment. “Whoever did this must have dropped it when they made their escape.”

Athos took the object from Treville’s hands. “What is it?” Porthos asked, glancing at the small coin Athos was holding.

“Spanish gold. Find who did this and quickly. We can’t have any more musketeers being attacked.” Treville replied. The captain glanced once at the door to Aramis’ room before turning back to Athos. “I’m going to inform the King and Queen of what happened here. Let me know if anything changes.” Athos nodded even a he heard the hidden meaning in Treville’s words. Let the Captain know if Aramis died.

...........

“The Spanish? Why would the Spanish want Aramis dead?” D’Artagnan was pacing the garrison floor. It had been cleaned of Aramis’ blood, one of the stable hands having scrubbed the area clean.

“It doesn’t make sense, why attack a musketeer?” Porthos continued D’artagnan’s train of thought. The larger man kept glancing up at Aramis’ door as if he half expected their brother to walk out of it and announce it was just a scratch. Not a strange notion as Athos had witnessed Aramis do this on multiple occasions. Of course, Athos had never seen Aramis injured so serverley before. Not since Savoy at least.

“How long does it take.” Porthos growled as he pushed himself from the table and started to angrily pace. D’Artagnan stopped for a moment, looking at Athos as if the older man had all the answers in the world.

Athos closed his eyes for a moment, banishing all the emotions he was currently feeling before turning his gaze to both Porthos and D’Artagnan. Aramis needed him to keep control. God knows someone had to if they were to find out who did this. And as much as it hurt him to say it, there was nothing more they could do for Aramis.

“Henry will let us know when he is done. As it is there is nothing we can do for Aramis standing here worrying ourselves over something we cannot control.” Athos started, clenching his heart against the pain he was feeling. If Aramis died, Athos honestly had no idea what he would do. What any of them would do. “Treville’s right. We need to find out who did this.”

“We can’t just leave Aramis.” Porthos retorted. The bigger man knew that Athos was right. They had to start somewhere and if they left it to long the murdering bastard that had hurt his brother might well have escaped France.

“You won’t.” Constance announced as she walked through the garrison entrance. When she had heard from someone in the market that a musketeer had been shot she had dropped everything she was doing and practically run over to the garrison. A traitorous part of her soul had eased a sigh of relief when she had seen D’Artagnan standing in the garrison alive and well. But it had quickly been squashed with worry as she realised Aramis wasn’t here.

“Constance...”. D’Artagnan started over to her but stopped short. He still remembered all to painfully that Constance had chosen her husband over him. A choice that Constance still regretted to this day. But right now that wasn’t her concern.

“Go, find out who did this. I’ll stay with Aramis.” Constance promised. She may not have known Aramis long but she had grown to care for the annoying womanising musketeer all the same.

“Thank you.” Athos said as the 3 musketeers walked to the stables to get their horses ready.

..........

“Who would dare do such a thing. To attack one of my musketeers.” The King yelled as Treville stood before their majesties.

“I presume you will find the men that did this we cannot have the King appearing weak in front of his people. After all, if the musketeers can not even protect themselves how could they ever protect the King.” Treville resisted the urge to punch the Cardinal as he said this but just barely. How very typical of the man to turn a disaster such as this to his own advantage.

“The musketeer, Aramis. Is he alive?” The Queen asked, worry plain in her eyes.

“He is alive for now your majesty.” The relief that washed over the Queen’s face was palpable even as she rested a hand over her expanding belly. Treville frowned at the action. That was not the action the Queen of France should be giving to a musketeer she barely knew.

Treville knew the Queen had spent a large amount of time with Aramis and Athos. After all it had only been 5 months ago that the queen’s life had been in grave anger and she had been under siege at the convent. Treville only hoped the Queen’s concern for Aramis was out of a sense of gratitude for the musketeer having saved her life. Even as said it though Treville knew he was a fool. He had seen the looks Aramis and the Queen both shared with one another. At another time it would have given Treville server concern. But right now his concern was elsewhere.

“Do you have any evidence of who the shooter may be?” The king asked, bringing Treville’s attention back to the matter at hand.

“We found Spanish gold where the shooter was hiding.” Treville announced. “My best men are looking into it.”

“The Spanish. How dare they have the audacity to attack one of my musketeers.” The King seethed. “You will find who did this Treville and you will bring him to me. I will not have France seem weak to Spain.” With this Louis stood and left the room, the Cardinal trailing in his wake.

The Queen hesitated a moment, looking once at Treville. “Please keep me informed of developments.” 

“Of course, my Queen.” Anne nodded once, fighting back the lump in her throat as she exited the throne room.


	3. Chapter 3

Constance sat on a wooden stool next to Aramis’ bed, soaking a wet cloth over the muskteers’ pale sweating forehead. There was a line of stitches that ran from the side of Aramis’ head right back behind his right ear. A wad of bandages across Aramis’ stomach made a strange lump on the blankets that now covered Aramis’ form.

Henry had instructed Constance to keep Aramis cool so as to keep the fever that had set across the musketeers’ body down. A job Constance had taken to heart as she gently smoother back Aramis’ hair and once more settled a cool cloth across the injured musketeers’ forehead.

Aramis’ face was a ghastly shade of grey but he was otherwise still as could be. If not for the sweat dripping from Aramis’ forehead and the uneven stuttering of Aramis’ breath Constance would have thought him dead.

Swallowing back tears, Constance held Aramis’ hand as she prayed that Aramis would wake up soon.

........

“Can I help you Monsieur’s?” The inn owner glanced nervously at the 3 musketeers who had just walked into his inn.

“We heard that you were handing out Spanish gold.” Athos stated, staring the inn owner down.

“It’s not illegal in Paris.” The innkeeper was sweating a nervous look on his face.

“It is when Spanish gold was found in the possession of an assassin that just tried to kill a Musketeer.” Porthos walked forwards, crowding the inn keeper until the mans’ back hit the bar behind him.

“I don’t know anything about someone trying to kill a musketeer.” The man stuttered, holding his hands out in mock surrender.

“Now that’s a lie. The whole of Paris is abuzz with the news.” D’Artagnan retorted.

“I only mean....I don’t know who did this.” The nine keeper stammered, glancing between the 3 musketeers.

“We don’t expect you to but you go that gold from somewhere.” Porthos replied, resting a hand on the inn keepers shoulder.

“I swear, I don’t know.” Porthos patted the man’s shoulder and turned back to Athos.

“He said he doesn’t know.” Porthos shrugged. D’Artagnan had moved behind the bar.

“Well, I presume you won’t mind us taking a look around then.” Athos replied, nodding at D’Artagnan who preceded to smash open one of the barrels of wine.

“Of course, if you just tell us where you got the Spanish gold from then we’ll just leave.” Athos continued.

D’Artagnan went to open up the next barrel when the inn keeper shouted: “Please, don’t. I’ll tell you.”

Athos nodded his head, motioning for D’Artagnan to come round as the inn keeper looked at the 3 musketeers. “I didn’t know his name. He was Spanish. He rented a room from me that’s how I got the gold.”

“What did he look like?” D’Artagnan asked.

“Bald headed.” The inn keeper nervously looked between them. “Tall. He was Spanish.”

“You said that.” Porthos growled. “Did he say why he was in Paris?”

“No. He only said he was here to do a job. That was it, I swear.”

“Where are his rooms?” The innkeeper jumped at Athos’ words before nodding his head taking them up the set of stairs leading to the rooms of the inn.

“He stayed here.” The man opened the door and the 3 muskteers walked in.

“You can leave us now.” Athos replied as Porthos and D’Artagnan walked around the room.

It had been emptied. “There’s nothing here.” D’Artagnan started but stopped as Porthos bent into the fire place.

“What’s that?” D’Artagnan asked as Porthos grabbed a bit of burnt paper and handed it to Athos.

Most of the paper was burnt and charred away and what could be read was in Spanish and none of them spoke Spanish.

But there was a name written across the bottom of the page.

Andrea Garcia.


	4. Chapter 4

“_Please. Stop, no more._” Aramis muttered as his eyes rolled under his closed eyelids.

Constance gently pushed back the damp hair from Aramis’ forehead as she replaced the cool cloth once more. His fever had risen. Henry had come to check on the wound on his side and found that the exit wound was infected. Constance had had to resist the urge to run front the room and throw up when she saw the angry bright red and pus leaking exit wound.

“What can we do?” Treville asked. He had joined Constance in her vigil at the musketeers bedside as soon as he returned from the palace.

“Cool clothes to bring his temperature down.” Henry had replied. “If you can, get him to drink this. It’s a herbal medicine it should reduce his fever.” Constance had taken the vile from Henry, nodding at the physician.

“Will he wake?” Treville asked as Constance gently smoother Aramis’ hair as the musketeer moved under the blankets.

“I don’t know.” Henry replied honestly. “Head wounds are a tricky business. But our first concern is to reduce that fever. Infection can kill a man as surely as any bullet can.” Treville had nodded, promising to call Henry if Aramis’ condition got any worse.

“_No, don’t hurt them. Please stop.”_ Aramis shouted, hands flailing and knocking the cup from Constance’s hands.

“Let me.” Treville took the cup from Constance’s hands and re-filled the water. Gently he lifted Aramis’ head and poured the water into Aramis’ mouth. Most of it fell away and pooled on the damp sheets surrounding Aramis. Treville whipped it away and gently placed Aramis’ head down.

Constance watched with a small amount of fascination. She knew the Captain cared for his men but she didn’t think he would go so far as to care for one of his men on their death bed. Though Constance resolutely refused to believe Aramis would actually die.

“I’ve known Aramis since he was 18.” Treville started as Aramis once more stirred in his sleep. The Captain placed a hand on Aramis brow, settling the younger man. “He joined the King’s military when he was 16, as far as I understand. He came to my attention 2 years later when he got into a fight with a few men under my regiment.” Treville smiled softly at a long forgotten memory. A much younger Aramis wild haired and clean shaven attacked 2 men who were nearly double his age who had insulted a fair maidens’ honour.

“He lost. Obviously.” Treville replied. “Didn’t stand a chance really not enough experience. He knew it to.”

“Why fight them then?” Constance asked.

“My men had insulted a ladies honour.” Constance laughed at this. It sounded just like Aramis. It was one of the things that Constance loved about Aramis because as much as he was a womaniser he was also one of the few men in the world who understood the true value of a woman. Something most men unfortunately lacked.

“2 years later the musketeers was formed and I commissioned Aramis.” Treville finished, looking down at the younger musketeer as he once more mumbled in his fever I induced state.

“That’s Spanish isn’t it?” Constance asked. Treville only nodded, a tired look appearing on his face.

“His mother was Spanish.” Porthos’ voice startled Constance but Treville didn’t even blink.

The Captain stood up as Porthos took his place next to Aramis’ bedside, gently taking Aramis’ hand in his own. Constance watched as Treville disappeared out of the room.

Athos appeared in the doorway, taking a quick look at Aramis before following the Captain. A hand fell onto Constance’s should making her look up into the concerned gaze of D’Artagnan. He motioned for her to come outside so she did.

........

D’Artagnan watched as Constance rested her hands on the balcony fencing, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths in and out. Tears were flowing from her eyes as she took steadying breaths in and out.

He rested a hand on her shoulder, wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms and hold her close. But he knew he couldn’t. “Are you ok?” He settled for instead, feeling his heart lurch as Constance rested her head on his hand.

“No. It’s horrible D’Artagnan.” Constance suddenly through herself into D’artagnan’s arms. Her hair still had the same smell to it as she clung to him and cried into his shoulder. If the circumstances had been any different, D’Artagnan would have felt like the happiest man in the world for having the woman he loved in his arms. As it was, he would trade this moment a thousand times over to undo the even that had caused it.

“I know.” D’Artagnan murmured into her hair. “I know.” As he held the woman he loved and could never have in his arms D’artagnan’s mind flashed back to the incident that had started all of this. He saw himself move, saw now how stupid he had been. If he’d stayed were he was, if her just let Aramis stumble to the ground rather than go to help him stand the second shot might never have hit Aramis. His brother might not be fighting for his life right now.

.........

Porthos sat next to Aramis’ besides, gently wiping away the sweat on Aramis’ forehead. Aramis looked terrible. The bedsheets were crumpled from Aramis’ continuous thrashing and damp from the sweat that seemed to be pouring from Aramis.

The stark white bandages against Aramis’ midsection were a stark contrast to Aramis’ grey parlour. His hair was plastered to his forehead and the stitches on his stood out stark against Aramis’ skin. Porthos watched as Aramis once more shouted something into the dark in Spanish, eyes rolling in his head and body twitching as if it where convulsing.

The room was dark, barley any light coming in the room. Porthos presumed it was in case Aramis woke up and it was light outside. He would be sensitive to it thanks to the head injury. Porthos was thankful it was so dark though. It stopped him from seeing his brothers’ injuries in stark light. Made everything seem less real somehow. As if the last few hours (had it really only been a few hours) had never happened.

Only in dark sitting next to his brothers’ comatose body did Porthos allow himself to cry. Because if Aramis didn’t wake up, Porthos honestly had no idea what he would do.

.......

Athos had taken one look at Aramis and walked away. Aramis had looked like he had one foot in the grave and Athos couldn’t stand to look at him that way. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing another brother. And he knew, if he looked at Aramis for to long, thought about the injured Aramis was now facing Athos would never be able to keep going long enough to find the man that had done this.

......

Aramis had always been the glue that held the inseparables together. Athos and Porthos would never have even looked twice at each other, let alone be fully accepted as musketeers without Aramis.

Porthos was discriminated against the day he joined the regiment thanks to the colour of his skin and where he came from. The other musketeers and most of the nobles looked at big musketeer and all they saw was a brute. A criminal. Aramis hadn’t. He’d seen someone who needed a friend. Who needed to be cared for. So Aramis had done the one thing no one else in Porthos’ whole like had done, he latched onto the bigger man. Porthos hadn’t understood it. After all, Aramis was everything that a musketeer should be. Charming, kind, honourable. And he had chosen to be Porthos’ friend. His brother.

Athos had met Aramis and Porthos almost by accident. The two musketeers having been attacked by bandits and almost assuredly outnumbered. Except then Athos who even still grieving for the loss of his brother and wife had done the honourable thing and helped Aramis and Porthos. Saved their lives according to Aramis though Athos seriously doubted that. The 2 musketeers had more than held their own. After that, Aramis had dragged Athos back to the musketeers Porthos just shaking his head as if it was a common occurrence for Aramis to pick up stray’s. Aramis had been the one to persuade Treville to give Athos the chance of being a musketeer. It had quite possible saved his life, and Athos would never be able to repay Aramis for that.

.........

“What did you find?” Treville asked as Athos walked into his office. He had poured out 2 glasses of wine and offered one to Athos now.

Athos took the wine gratefully, sitting himself opposite Treville’s desk. A bit of tension leaked out of Athos’ body as he took a sip but he didn’t take anymore. When they had caught the would be assassin. When this was all over. Then Athos would allow himself to drink until he forgot everything that happened in the last few hours.

“We found this.” Athos handed over the burnt note they had found in the assasin’s rooms.

Treville took the note and read it. He couldn’t speak Spanish so had no idea what the words meant but when he read the name he paled considerable.

“Get Porthos and D’Artagnan in here now.” Treville breathed, not looking up from the burnt bit of paper in his hand. “I know why Aramis was attacked.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Captain?” Athos pressed as D’Artagnan closed the door behind him. They had left Aramis in the care of Constance once more. D’artagnan felt guilty for asking her to do this but Constance had told him not to be an idiot and that she would do whatever she could to help.

Treville looked at the 3 musketeers in front of him and sighed deeply. He had hoped, prayed even, that he would never have to tell them this. That he would never have to explain to them how he had so drastically and completely failed Aramis.

“Sit down.” The 3 musketeers sat down all identical looks of trepidation on his face as Treville began his story:

12 years ago

“Aramis, please sit.” Captain Treville motioned for his youngest musketeer to sit down opposite his desk. Aramis didn’t blink as he took a seat though Treville could see the worry plainly in the young musketeers’ face. Aramis was barely 22. had been a musketeer for 2 years and was the youngest musketeer Treville had. If he had any choice in the matter then Treville would never ask Aramis to do what he was going to ask to do. But he didn’t have a choice. Aramis was the only option.

“Do you have any Spanish in your family?” Treville asked. The question clearly took Aramis by surprise as he hesitated before replying. Not surprising really, even then the Spanish were not well liked by the French.

“Yes sir, my mother.” Treville nodded. It was obvious to anyone that looked at Aramis that there was some Spanish in him. That and the boy lapsed in his language sometimes. “But I am a loyal Frenchman.” Aramis continued, brown eyes hard and unyeliding and they stared at Treville.

Treville smiled as this. The boy might be young but was one of the most loyal and definitely the most stubborn musketeer Treville had. “No one is questioning your loyalty Aramis.” A bit of tension seemed to ease from Aramis’ shoulders then.

“I have a task for you.” Treville started. “There had been talk Spainish raiding parties in the southern towns in France. Spain has informed the King that this is not their doing and that the raiders are independent of Spain. The men that have been sent to deal with the bandits have been found dead. Whoever these men are working for they are well funded and they are well trained. We need information as to who these men are working for and where they are getting their resources. Without it, the King cannot act. I have been asked to send a musketeer to infiltrate the bandits and get this information. I chose you.”

“It is your choice Aramis, if you choose not to no one will think any less of you.” Treville started. Aramis needed to know the facts. “If I had a choice I would send someone else. Not because you are not more than capable but because you lack experience and the men you will be infiltrating are dangerous. Murders and thieves who will not hesitate to torture and kill you if they find out who you are.”

Aramis was silent for a moment before replying. “You chose me because I’m half Spanish Captain.” It wasn’t a question but Treville nodded anyway. “Then I will not fail sir”. Treville felt a blossoming of pride as he looked at his youngest musketeer.

.......

Infiltrating the bandits had been laughably easy. They had taken one look at Aramis and accepted his story easily. They believed he was the same as them, a Spaniard who hated the French from some perceived wrong. The why didn’t matter, Aramis soon cam to realise. As long as you were Spanish and willing to pick up a sword and attack French citizens then they welcomed you.

It wasn’t until the first raise he participated in that Aramis knew why Treville hadn’t wanted to send him on this mission. It wasn’t that Aramis was green, he’d been a soldier for 6 years and had more experience than some men twice his age. He was a natural fighter and the best shot in the regiment. True he was reckless, most of the time, and he attracted more trouble than anyone else Treville had met (the Captain had said that to him after one memorable incident with a certain Countess’ daughter). No, it was because of what Aramis would be expected to do.

Aramis wasn’t a cruel man, he hated killing, hated violence. Contradicting things considering he was a soldier. But Aramis was nothing if not a contradiction. As part of his role as one of the Spanish bandits, however, he was expected to be ruthlessly cruel. To attack and kill French citizens without hesitation. Most of the victims where women and children.

When Aramis took part in his first raid, Aramis froze. He had never froze in all his life but here, assisting these monsters Aramis froze. He could not watch in horror as these Spanish men butchered families in front of his eyes.

“_What are you doing here if not to kill French?_” The bull of a man yelled at Aramis as he punched the younger man hard enough to make his ribs creak in agony.

“_I’m sorry_.” Aramis coughed as the man came at Aramis again. This time Aramis dodged the blow, sending the older man off balance.

“_You little bastard_”. The man came at Aramis again but he managed to dodge this blow as well, grabbing the older mans hand and jerking it backwards. The man fell to the ground screaming in rage. Dislocated shoulder by the look of it.

Aramis hadn’t thought to pay attention to the others’ around him until he felt hands on his arms, holding him in place as another man started to punch him over and over again. Aramis struggled and got a few good hits in but he didn’t have the strength to escape the vicious assault on his body.

“_Stop_!” A voice yelled, making the men holding Aramis up drop him to the floor. Aramis crumpled to the floor, groaning in pain. “_You get up.” _The man was on horse back, looking down at Aramis in what the younger assumed was disgust. Aramis staggered to his feet, glaring at the man on the horse, daring him to do something. If he was going to die, he;d be damned if it was on his knees. “_My men said you didn’t help in the raid. That you froze. Why?”_

“_They were innocents_.” Aramis retorted, ignoring the snorts around him.

“_They were French.”_ The man on the horse replied, holding Aramis’ gaze levelly. If he was honest, he was impressed by the boy’s tenacity. Anyone else would have backed down by now but this boy just glared straight at him.

“_Irrelevant. They were women and children, farmers. People who have no say in the politics of France. They are innocent. Event if they are French_.” The last part was added as an afterthought and Aramis was honestly starting to curse his recklessness. Treville was not going to be pissed, day 1 and he was going to get himself killed already.

The man on the horse said nothing for a moment then as if he’;d decided something, he spoke. “_What is your name?”_

“_Rene_.” Aramis replied. Treville had told him not to give his real name, lest anyone recognise it from the King’s musketeers. “_And yours_?” Aramis asked, figuring he had nothing left to lose. What Aramis did not expect to happen was for the man to burst out laughing.

“_You’re a spit fire aren’t you.”_ The man laughed, jumping from his horse and offering his hand to Aramis. Aramis took it, if not a bit hesitantly. “_Andre Garcia.”_

.......

After that, Aramis found himself as the right hand man of Andrea Garcia. For some reason the man trusted Aramis. Andrea would say it was refreshing to find someone who wasn’t afraid to speak their mind. Aramis found himself put in charge of finding suitable targets for the raids.

As it turned out, Andrea Garcia was a jilted Duke in Spain who stood to lose a large amount should Spain and France come to a peace agreement. His land bordered on an area that France claimed was theirs. Should Spain and France find peace, his lands would be passed over to the French. “_A thing I will never allow to happen, my boy.”_ Andrea would say, patting Aramis on the should fondly as the two sat around a fire drinking wine.

Aramis had found an easy way to get in touch with Treville. They never camped to far away from a town and Aramis had no difficulty finding a lovely young woman in these towns who was willing to send letters to a distant Uncle who lived in the South of France (Serge who Treville had stationed nearby to pass messages between the garrison and Aramis. Honestly, Aramis thought the old ex-solider was rather enjoying a well earned break from feeding the garrison).

If anyone asked why Aramis was sending letters into France, Aramis would laugh it off. H’ed found the best way to get Andrea to believe him was to tell part of the truth. So Andrea knew Aramis’ mother was Spanish while his Father was French. And while Aramis disliked his Father (something the was in fact true thanks to the incident with Isabel) he did still keep in touch with his Uncle who while French was no lover of the French king. Andrea accepted this half truth as fact.

And this was how Treville told Aramis where to send the bandits, to cause the least amount of damage while still making it look like Aramis was being an effective part of Andrea’s operation. IfTreville had his way Aramis would have been done by now. He had done more than enough but the Cardinal wanted more. He was using Aramis as a pawn in his game and sooner or later, Aramis wasn’t going to talk his way out of trouble.

.......

“_You’re sure about this?_” Andrea looked at Rene with slight trepidation. In the last year that Andrea had know the boy he had believed he had found the son he had always wanted. Someone more than capable of taking up Andrea’s dreams and making them a reality.

“_Of course.” _Rene replied, cocky smile playing on his lips. He was young. Younger than anyone else here but Andrea had never met s a more effective soldier.

“_Well then.”_ Andrea grinned, clapping Rene on the back. “_Good luck, my boy._” Andrea rode his horse away from Rene. The musketeers were camped only a few miles away. By nightfall they would all be dead. The king would be left devastated and a peace treaty with Spain would never be real.

........

“Aramis.” Treville clapped a hand on his musketeers shoulder as Aramis melted from the darkness.

“Captain.” Aramis grinned, taking the embrace the Captain offered gladly. It felt odd speaking French after so long but it was a welcome change.

“It’s good to see you lad.” Treville said, clapping Aramis on the shoulder as he looked Aramis over. His hair was longer and their was the starting of a beard but otherwise Aramis looked the same as he had when he’d left the garrison over 12 months ago. If his eyes held a more serious glint in them, Treville chose not to comment.

“Almost done now, we just need one more thing.” Treville said and he could have sworn Aramis’ shoulders stooped a bit. It was obvious Aramis wanted to finish but the boy would never say it. Duty before all else. Treville had to admire it if nothing else. “We need you to get Garcia away from the main fight. We need him alive and in French custody.”

“Just tell me when and where.” Aramis replied, a severe look crossing his face.

As Treville and Aramis discussed where the musketeers would ambush Garcia, they had no idea that a particular Spaniard (the very same one Aramis had dislocated the shoulder of when he’d first arrived) was listening to every word.

.......

As soon as Aramis got back to camp he knew something was off. Nothing was said, if anything it was a normal night. Some of the bandits said hello, most just ignored Aramis as they tended to but still Aramis couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong.

Seeing Treville again after all this time had made Aramis feel a bit homesick. He had been gone from Paris for so long and he was missing it. He missed the garrison, the musketeers. He missed the lovely women of Paris. Soon, he told himself. Soon he would be back in his quarters at the garrison and all this would be over.

Aramis sighed in a mall sigh of relief as he entered his tent for the night.

.....

Aramis woke with a stifled yell as he felt hands clasped around his throat. He clawed at the hands to remove them but they wouldn’t budge. Panicking, Aramis grabbed the closest object to him, heaving with all his strength and knocking the man over the head with it. The man’s eyes rolled backwards and he collapsed on top of Aramis.

Struggling to get out from under the bull of a man, Aramis gasped for breath. Wheezing slightly Aramis quickly grabbed his weapons belt and exited the tent, only for something to strike him across the head and plummet him unconscious.

......

Aramis came awake gasping and spluttering as freezing cold water was poured over his head. Startled, Aramis glanced around him unable to get his bearings as someone punched him in the gut. Aramis staggered out a breath, bent double as someone grabbed a fistful of his hair.

“_You thought you could lie to me. You thought you could betray my trust. How dare you you piece of French scum.” _Andrea Garcia spat in Aramis’ face and punched him square in the nose. Blood poured out and Aramis let out a pained groan as he was dragged to his feet only to be thrown to the floor.

His arms were tied behind his back so Aramis could only curl up in a ball to hide away from the fists that clambered down on him. “_I treated you like a son. I gave you everything. And this is how you thank me. By betraying me to those lying French bastards. You’ll die for this._” Aramis felt panic clawing through him as Andrea wrapped his hands around Aramis’ throat, squeezing hard.

Gasping for air, Aramis struggled against the bonds behind his back but they were tied to tight. Black spots appeared in Aramis’ vision as he kicked out at Andrea but the man didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch. His cold black eyes glared down at Aramis. They held an anger in them that Aramis had never seen before in his life.

His struggling was becoming weaker and weaker as the breath left his body. This was how he was going to die. As the black spots threatened to overwhelm Aramis there was a bang from the distance and then blood was coating Aramis’ face.

Andrea jumped to his feet, face bright red with fury as he swivelled to meet the man who had shot him. Aramis lay at his feet, gasping in breaths in a panicked desperate sort of way.

Treville quickly reloaded his pistol, ready to drop Andrea Garcia dead with the next shot when a group of men attacked him from behind. Thankfully in that moment the musketeers were attacking the bandits camp.

A dagger dropped by Aramis’ feet, one of the bandits nearby had been shot and dropped it. Quickly, Aramis cut the ropes binding him and stood on shaking feet. Not a moment to soon as Andrea attacked him with a sword. Aramis jumped back, holding the dagger out in front of him as his only weapon. He didn’t stand a chance. Not against the crazed Spaniard.

Andrea lunged at Aramis, who barely dodged the blow. His whole body ached and he still couldn’t breath properly. Panic was lacing inside him but he pushed it down as Andrea lunged again. This one hit it’s mark and Aramis felt pain lace up his side as the sword grazed his side.

“_Not so smart are you now my boy.” _Andrea let out a crazed laugh as he lunched once more but this time Aramis was ready. He spun out of the way, and got the dagger past Andrea’s guard. The man yelled in agony, dropping his sword as the dagger plunged into his leg.

Andrea grabbed Aramis by the hair and slammed Aramis to the ground. Aramis felt his head his a rock and then whole world went black.

Present Day

“Andrea escaped. One of his men dragged him away. It’s probably the only reason Aramis survived though it was touch and go for a while.” Treville finished, looking at Athos, Porthos and D’artagnan.

“So this lunatic wants to kill Aramis for revenge?” Porthos asked. Treville only nodded. He still blamed himself for what happened. If hadn’t sent Aramis back to the camp that night then Andrea would never have tried to kill Aramis. Maybe none of what was happening now would have happened.

“Then we need to find him and fast. Because if he hears that Aramis is still alive, he’ll try again.” Athos finished.

Treville nodded. Athos was right. Andrea Garcia was a lunatic. A lunatic that wanted Aramis dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed please review


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